


You're the One that I Want

by neck_romancer



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Crossdressing, Greaser AU, Johnlock Gift Exchange, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, spontaneous sex in a house of mirrors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2012-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-20 07:59:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/583078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neck_romancer/pseuds/neck_romancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sherlock—Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft’s brainy little brother, preppy new kid, antisocial asshole, and all-around square—plucked the cigarette from his cherry painted lips and winked.</p><p>'Tell me about it…stud.'"</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're the One that I Want

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Johnlockchallenges gift for serpentinasnape! Hope you like it!
> 
> The prompt was "a trip to an amusement park"...and then this happened. Um. Oops. But it's just barely Grease. I'd say it's about 90% mindless porn. *cough* Hope you don't mind the sporadic greaser-speak and my clumsy first attempt at smut. (P.S. In this Sherlock would be about 17 and John 18.)
> 
> Also, there's fanart: http://rizplease.tumblr.com/post/37221701532/heres-johnlockchallenge-gift-for-serpentinasnape

“Sherlock?!  What are you _wearing_?”

Sherlock—Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft’s brainy little brother, preppy new kid, antisocial asshole, and all-around square—plucked the cigarette from his cherry painted lips and winked.

“Tell me about it…stud.”

John sputtered unintelligently and cursed his tight leather pants and how they really didn’t do much to hide his interest.  Sherlock, the crazy moron, was wearing a skin-tight, off the shoulder black number and his hair was done up in a crazy perm so big that it was making John nervous (he was pretty sure the kid was hiding something unsavory in there—like a gun or a dead cat or something).  He was even wearing makeup and—John’s eyes lingered a bit on the way down—a pair of women’s heels.  In the middle of an amusement park.  Full of people.  People who were ogling the nerd in spandex too, who were eyeballing that arse and those legs and that material really didn’t leave much to the imagination and no this just ain’t acceptable at all.

John grabbed Sherlock by the arm and pulled him away from the crowd that was forming.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he hissed.

Sherlock giggled.  It was so strange that John nearly walked straight into a garbage can.

“What’s the matter, big daddy, don’t like my new threads?”

“What did you call me?”  John shook his head.  “I—never mind—just—let’s go somewhere you can change before any of these wise guys start to get ideas.”

“Oh come on, John, don’t be such a drag.”

“Someone has to be the sane one here, Sherlock.”

“You gotta learn to chill out, Daddy-O.”

“Daddy-what—Sherlock!”

John jumped.  Actually left the ground and landed mostly on his feet.  Face red, he looked around toward the bumper car booth and sure enough, the guys had clearly seen Sherlock pinching his arse from where they were sitting, judging by all the whistling and cat-calling they were doing.

“Keep your eyeballs in your sockets, Lestrade!” John hollered back.  This was getting out of hand.  With more force this time, John slung an arm around Sherlock’s waist and pulled them into the house of mirrors.

This building was locked because a few months ago some genius kids brought a baseball inside and broke one of the mirrors.  John silently thanked the park staff for being too lazy to replace it as he picked open the lock and ushered Sherlock inside.

Once the door was securely locked after them, John spun around, fully intending on letting Sherlock know just how insane he was to be wandering around town practically naked, but his stern lecture stuck in his throat when Sherlock covered his lips with his own.

With a groan, John pushed back against the weight that was pinning him to the door and kissed back possessively.  Sherlock kissed just as enthusiastically, shoving his hands down the back of John’s pants.  John had enough time to think, _Boy, that’s a tight fit,_ before Sherlock started to pull away.  With his hands still clenched around John’s arse cheeks.

John stumbled along awkwardly.  “Sh-Sherlock, hey-”

“Shh, John.  I want to see you.”

“What do you mean?  I’m right here.”

Sherlock came to a stop at the center of the maze and raised an eyebrow.

“I want to _see_ you.”

John looked around.

“Oh.”

He could see himself, red-faced and trapped in Sherlock’s arms, from every possible angle now.  It was surreal and it was doing strange things to his cock.

“Sherlock.  This is turning me on.”

“Me too.”

“You’re dressed like a chick and we’re in a funhouse and I’m turned on.”

“Yes, John.”

“That’s weird.”

“Is it?”  Sherlock slipped his fingers lower and slid into John’s crack.

“Y…es.  I’m turned on by weirdness now,” John panted, mouthing the hollow point in Sherlock’s neck.  He nibbled gently on the underside of his jaw and felt Sherlock’s breath hitch.  “You’re turning me into you.”

“Hmm…I can dig that.”  Sherlock murmured as he removed his hands and sank to his knees.

“Why do you keep talking like tha _aaatohgodyes-”_

John’s hands flew to Sherlock’s mass of curls as the genius mouthed at his cock through the leather zip of his pants.  He could feel Sherlock’s tongue pressing against the material and outlining his hardness.  The muted pressure was not nearly enough and John’s legs were beginning to shake.  He felt Sherlock’s long fingers rubbing up in the space between his legs, sliding back and forth over the sensitive area without touching.

“Sherlock,” John moaned.  “You’re driving me crazy.”  He thrust.  “Please please…”

He heard a huff of breath—a laugh much more _Sherlockian_ than the flirtatious tittering from before—and soon enough his zip was down and his cock freed from his smalls.  Sherlock grasped his shaft in those long fingers— _was he wearing_ _nail polish?—_ and John’s knees went wobbly.

John’s eyes were fixed on his lover’s lips.  The bright red lipstick had smudged and it made them look puffy and soft.  The thought of those lips around his cock made his head spin.

Tearing his gaze away, he saw Sherlock watching him with a smug look.  John had no time to be embarrassed, however, because the bastard chose that moment to take the tip into his mouth. The wet sounds Sherlock was making and John’s moans echoed back at them.

Lost in his pleasure (and shock at the circumstances), John didn’t notice Sherlock slowing down until he was practically holding the end of John’s cock in his lips like a lollipop.

“Unhh…Sherlock?”  John gritted out.  He shifted his weight (his legs were getting tired), and the movement jolted his erection.  “Unggh—move?  Please?  Oh god.”

But Sherlock wasn’t listening.  He was staring somewhere past John’s waist and… Shit.  He had that expression on his face that usually meant experiments with dead things.  John really hoped there wasn’t a dead cat behind him.

Suddenly, Sherlock backed off, leaving John cold and exposed and incredibly frustrated.  But even as he stuttered out a protest, Sherlock was smirking like a devil and spinning him around.

“Sit,” he commanded.

John sat, without thinking.  Sherlock settled down behind him, back-to-back.  John’s arousal was starting to fade in his confusion, “What are we doing, exactly?  You know, besides the sex.  Cause that’s still happening, right?  Please tell me this isn’t some sort of science project.”

Sherlock’s reflection grinned at him.  Actually, about ten Sherlock’s grinned at him.  His lips were deliciously swollen and his hair disheveled.  John leaned back into Sherlock’s body heat, shivering with need.  “Can’t we-”

“Trust me, John.  This will be good,” Sherlock’s held his gaze through the mirror.  “Just do as I say.”

John nodded.

“Touch yourself.”

He groaned.  “I need you to- please, Sherlock-”

“Trust me.”  Though it was almost a whisper, Sherlock’s voice vibrated through John’s back.  “Touch yourself.”

John hesistated.  Sherlock wanted him to-  He took a deep breath.  Sherlock was asking him to trust him.  And god help him, John couldn’t deny that a part of him was seriously turned on by the idea of getting off this way.  Tentatively, he took himself in his hands and stroked.  John’s eyes slid shut. He gave into the pleasure slowly and touched himself as if he was alone in his room.  Behind him, Sherlock hissed.  John’s breath quickened and he pressed his lips together to muffle a moan of pleasure. 

“Open your eyes, John.”

He did and was taken aback by the sight of himself in the mirrors. It surrounded them at every angle, his head thrown back over Sherlock’s shoulder, legs spread wide flies open, and precum leaking from the tip of his cock.  He’d never wanked in front of a mirror before and it was…strange.  Were he not so far gone he would have been embarrassed, but now he only sped up the movement of his hand, fascinated by the blur of it over his penis and the slight thrusting of his pelvis he was never conscious of until now.

Sherlock was panting loudly, his gaze intense.  He was touching himself through the spandex of his pants.  John could see the outline of his slender cock so clearly it was obscene.  And the way Sherlock was rubbing the heel of his palm into his bulge and biting his lip was just a sin.

“Sherlock,” John groaned.  “Shit _, Sherlock_ , let me see _you_ , please-”

His wish was granted when his lover eased down the high-waisted material until it was up and over his erection.  Sherlock released it with a gasp and palmed the head, spreading the generous amount of precum down the hard flesh.  John gasped along with him, unconsciously matching his rhythm to Sherlock’s hand.

Sherlock was watching him, too, and murmuring his name like a prayer.  John quickly shoved off his pants and smalls—struggling awkwardly for a moment with his shoes—and spread his legs as wide as possible.  He was rewarded for his efforts when Sherlock moaned.

“Yes yesss John…use—ah—use your fingers.”

Heart hammering in his chest, John stuck two fingers in his mouth then brought them down to his hole.  He watched as they massaged the wrinkled flesh (it was pinker than he imagined it would be).  One spit-slicked finger pushed its way inside.  Weird.  And…really hot, actually.  John used his other hand to spread his cheeks wider for a better view and heard Sherlock say, “Ngghhng.”

He felt the rush of pride that always came with making Sherlock Holmes lose his composure.  Then he found his own prostate and cried out.  The sound of his voice rang back at them twice.

Sherlock’s reflection threw his head back, but kept his feverish gaze on John, hand pumping furiously.  “Yes, John, I want to hear you, too.”  He panted and rolled his balls together.  “Fuck yourself.  Don’t hold back.  Let me see you.”

John focused on the sight of Sherlock’s cock slipping in and out of his fingers, twitching every now and then, and thought of what it felt like in his mouth, in his hands, in his arse.  He started to push a second finger in, moaning.

“Yess, more…John, more-”

He pumped his fingers in time with Sherlock’s hand, his moans rising in volume every time he hit that spot again.  Sherlock’s hand sped up the pace, and John followed.  He was completely lost in his pleasure.  His eyes darted from mirror to mirror.  Sherlock was _everywhere_ except right in front of him.  He wanted to touch Sherlock himself.  He wanted to be touched.  But he also didn’t want to stop.

Sherlock’s head fell back and knocked into his.  He growled, “Say my name.”

John gasped, “Sherlock…”

“Louder!” he snapped.

“Sherlock!”  John moaned, feeling himself getting close.  He tried to thrust into his fingers, head spinning.  “Please— _please_ …”  He felt over his shoulder with his free hand, grasping at any part of his lover he could reach, not sure what he wanted but wanting _something_.

Sherlock turned in his spot so that John was sitting between his open legs.  He reached around and grasped John’s cock and started stroking.  John gasped his name over and over as his peak approached while Sherlock bit at his neck and whispered filthy things into his ear.

“Come on, John.  I want to hear you scream my name with your fingers up your arse.  Are you pretending it’s me?  Of course you are.  Fucking you, dressed like this.”  He leaned in until his warm breath tickled John’s ear. He whispered lowly, “Or do you want to fuck me?”

He was seeing it now.  Sherlock thrusting into him, up against the wall, balanced precariously in those heels.  Sherlock with his legs in the air and biting his lipstick-smeared lips as John moved inside him.  The thought was too much.  John came, shouting Sherlock’s name and a curse that reverberated through the maze so many times anyone walking by would have heard it.

When John came down from his high, the first thing he noticed was his spunk splattered on the mirror in front of him.  The second thing was Sherlock subtly rutting his still-hard cock against his back.  John turned to face him and seated his bare ass on his lap.  “What was that you said about fucking me?”

Sherlock smirked.  The smirk dropped when John held up a finger.

“First you have to explain what this-” he waved his hand at Sherlock’s clothes “-whole thing was about.”

His lover huffed impatiently.  “That can wait, John.”

John shook his head, “No, it can’t.  I know you, kid, and you’re either cooking up something crazy or just _being_ crazy without realizing it.  I’d rather know what I’m dealing with this time so I can control the damage.  Remember the drag race?”

“That was hardly my fault.”

“The car _flew._ ”

“Don’t be simple.  Cars can’t fly.  It simply...accelerated northwards.  But it came back down eventually.  With the driver mostly intact.”

“And what about the dance?”

Sherlock shrugged.  “A minor miscalculation on my part.”

“Minor—the punch was _on fire_.  And then _so was_ _everything else_.”

“Hm, yes.  But at least you won the dance competition.”

“Just—would ya tell me what’s going on this time?  Please?”

Sherlock looked mutinous and John thought he wasn’t going to give in.  But his expression cleared and he casually explained, “I was an experiment.  I have been studying the behaviors and social traditions of your…” he wrinkled his nose, “…friends…and was attempting to infiltrate their clique.  Similar to the way a predator might adopt the scent of its prey to avoid detection.”

John frowned at a lock of Sherlock’s hair he was twirling in his fingers.  “So...you’re saying you were trying to, what, fit in?”

His hand was slapped away immediately.  Sherlock’s tone was sharp, “Of course not!  Weren’t you listening, I said I was trying to disguise myself so that I might infiltrate-”

“Yeah, predators, experiment, dead cats, blah blah—but why?”

Sherlock sighed impatiently.  “You and the cat again.  It was only once and I _apologized-_ ”

“Sherlock.”

He avoided John’s eye and said, “I simply thought it would be best to...ingratiate myself to your _friends_.  Dull as they may be.  I thought it might be easier for you.”

John was lost.  “What do you mean?”

“They think I’m strange.”

John nodded.  “Yes.  Everyone does.”

“And a nerd.”

“Yes.”

“And a virgin.”

John chuckled. “Okay, they’re a little off base about _that_ one.”

“Well...all that bothers you, doesn’t it?”

John stared.  He tried very hard not to laugh again.  A giggle or two escaped.  Sherlock did not look pleased.  John asked, “You thought dressing up like _this_ would make them think you weren’t strange?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes.  He said smugly, “Your friends seemed to enjoy it.  I’d say this was a success.”

“Sherlock,” John grabbed his face in both hands.  “Listen, genius.  I don’t care what they think.  I never did.  They can all get bent for all I care.  I just want you.  The real you.  Dead cats and all.”

John could see an argument on the tip of Sherlock’s tongue, so he kissed him, slow and sweet.  When they separated, John was pleased to see that the bit of tension in Sherlock’s face was gone.  And he was smirking.

“If you say so, John.  So.” Sherlock twirled a curl around his finger.  “What do you say we take this rodeo show back to my pad, cat daddy?”

“Please stop talking like that.  It’s terrifying.”

“To you maybe.  But I find I’m quite good at this character.  And the disguise has been…” He inspected his painted nails. “…unexpectedly enjoyable.”

“Good for you.”  John ground his hips and they both groaned.  “But you promised to fuck me, or did you forget?”

Sherlock brought John close and said, “I’d say that, over all, this was definitely successful.”

 

\--

 

“Sherlock?  How _did_ you get your hair like that?”

“Science, John.”

“But-”

“Science.”


End file.
